


What's a Cowboy Without a Cow?

by starship_nebuchadnezzar



Series: #FreeMooCree 'verse [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Honeymoon, Los Angeles, M/M, Mom Ana Amari, Post-Recall, Team as Family, people loving and supporting each other, weird laws, when everyone's a big happy family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starship_nebuchadnezzar/pseuds/starship_nebuchadnezzar
Summary: There's an old law on the California books that makes it illegal to wear cowboy boots without owning at least two cows.McCree doesn't own any cows.(Un)luckily, he has a whole special ops team tripping over themselves to help.





	What's a Cowboy Without a Cow?

“You need _what_ now?” 

“It’s not funny, Amari. And I’d appreciate it if you took me off speaker phone. Don’t think I can’t hear Genji laughing in the background.” 

“You have to admit… it’s a little bit funny,” Ana said, only slightly subdued. 

Gabe put his head in his hands. “Believe it or not, there’s a clock on this whole mess. In forty-eight hours they can extradite and McCree has outstanding warrants from sixteen countries. This is going to be an absolute disaster.” 

“I know. Which is why Athena is looking into ways around the law and Jack’s reaching out to all of his old contacts to see if there’s a way to brush this all under the rug.” 

“Gabe, for the people just tuning in, can you please repeat what’s going on?” Genji said in a newscaster imitation that would have been more credible if he hadn’t burst into laughter midway through. 

Satya sighed. In an attempt to find her place as the newest recruit, she had taken to applying the corporate skills she had learned at Vishkar to the (significantly lacking) Overwatch PR effort. “Genji, don’t you think the voice recorder is a little mean?”

The other side of the phone call dissolved into spirited bickering until Gabe cut in. 

“As funny as this may seem to you, my husband of less than a week is currently in the drunk tank of a L.A. jail.” 

“You’re right, you’re right.” Ana said. “And I promise you we’re all taking this very seriously, despite how _some_ of us are acting.” 

Winston’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Which one of you is making cattle market purchases on the company card? And don’t try to deny it—I know it came from the terminal in this lounge and I know you all know that card is canceled. 

“That would be me, love.” Tracer said, slightly abashed. “Sorry, big guy.”

“Oxton, what the hell?” Gabe grumbled. 

“Gabe, isn’t the simplest solution to provide proof that McCree does own at least two cows. And since two cows looks like we just threw it together at the last moment, I thought we might as well get three.” 

“Oxton, we are _not_ complying with this. It’s a political arrest and I won’t stand for it. The California Highway Patrol has been out to get him ever since he was involved in that _fucking_ mission with Rutledge and his little buddy and they’re just looking for an excuse.”

“Do you want to enjoy your honeymoon or not, or are you going to be as stubborn about his as you are about not letting me put ‘Wannabe’ on our mission pump up playlist?” Tracer snapped back. 

“None of that explains why I had to cancel a charge to the California Ranchers Association, Tracer,” Winston said with forced patience. “Or why you’re on this call at all, Reyes.”

“If you all just shut up, I’ll explain,” Ana said. “Apparently, there’s a very old law in California that states if you don’t own at least two or more cows, you can’t wear cowboy boots. And when McCree stepped onto the tarmac, police were waiting.” 

“And so Tracer and Reyes bought the cows,” Winston filled in. 

“I wasn’t involved—“ Gabe said. 

“I mean if you’d picked a husband who was capable of not dressing as a cowboy, none of this would have happened,” Genji chimed in.

* * *

Hana Song woke up to the sound of a frog ribbitting. She rolled over and checked her phone to see what Lucio had to say at---what was it… 3:46 Gibraltar time? Late, even for him. 

[Lucio]: Holy shit Song this is w i l d  
[Lucio]: I wish you were here to see this  
[Lucio]: So you know how Reyes and the cowboy went to LA on their honeymoon…  
[Lucio] … 

[Hana Song]: O.o  
[Hana Song]: God they got caught by a pap /smooching/ in public didn’t they  
[Hana Song]: about time the whole world knew how gross the two of them are when they spend more than five minutes in each others company 

[Lucio]: It’s even better/worse.  
[Lucio]: McCree got locked up for wearing cowboy boots… 

[Hana Song]: H O L Y  
[Hana Song]: FU CK

[Lucio]: It’s this really old law. We’re trying to get him out.  
[Lucio]: I told Winston that bringing those two pyro Australians into that cleanup was a terrible idea.  
[Hana Song]: Anything I can do to help? 

[Lucio]: idek I think Jack and his military buddies are going to handle it  
[Lucio]: unless you have two cows lol…

* * *

“It’s really, OK, huckleberry,” McCree said, pressing his left hand against the glass, his wedding ring shining in the fluorescent light. “I know how much you wanted me see where you grew up, and we’ll have plenty of time after this is all over. Promise I won’t think the worse of LA because of all this.” 

Gabe hummed in acknowledgement. He’d had plans for the day, ones that didn’t include only seeing his husband between three and five in the afternoon. 

“If we get you out.” 

“Don’t think that way, darlin’.” McCree said, “And before you try anything funny, know that you’ll spend your first month as a married man sleeping on that futon you hate if you try and break me out of here. 

“I know that look. Don’t forget how many ops we’ve run together.” 

“Now that we’re married, can we at least get rid of my half of that futon?” 

“Don’t change the subject.” 

“It’s ugly and lumpy and orange stripes don’t match any of my sheets and pillows.” 

“Gabe. Promise me. I trust the team and you should too.” 

“Ok. We’ll wait this one out. For now.” 

McCree gave him a soft, golden smile, and Gabe was suddenly flooded with the urge to tangle his fingers deep into the cowboy’s hair. 

“So what’s up with you, sweet pea?” McCree asked.

Gabe smiled. “I’ve been making a wedding present for you, actually.”

“A weddin’ present,” McCree repeated, his face lit up in love and wonder. 

“Really it’s more for both of us,” Gabe qualified.  
Suddenly, Gabe’s phone vibrated against his hip. 

“Sorry, dear. This is Ana with an update. She says that they have a way to get you out and to call her”

“I’ll see you soon, darlin’. In person.” McCree said, kissing his fingers and pushing them against the glass, a gesture Gabe returned.

* * *

“OK, everyone be quiet, he’s calling me back,” Ana said. 

“And Genji, Tracer, both of you be nice. This is going to be quite a blow to his pride.

“Reyes here,” 

“Gabe, I need you to know first of all Jesse is going to be OK. You have my word. Second of all, know that Overwatch had nothing to do with this, and Jack is just as blindsided as we are.”

“What?” Gabe grumbled. 

“I’m sending you an article. Just read it.

Gabe opened the his email with trepidation. 

> **#FreeMooCree Hashtag Takes Over Twitter**
> 
> Last night, Hana Song, Overwatch’s MEKA operator and social media personality, made waves in the blogosphere with an unusual fundraiser. 
> 
> In a series of tweets from her account, @DVaSongOfficial, she informed the world that fellow Overwatch operative Jesse McCree had been arrested less than an hour after beginning his LA honeymoon with Overwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes. His crime: wearing his trademark cowboy boots without owning at least two cows. Song speculated that this law, which is rarely enforced, was retribution by the California government for “that fiasco involving the f---ing weirdos who scrapped [her suit]” 
> 
> The Post was unable to ascertain which operation Song was referring to, but was able to find evidence of recent Overwatch involvement in a botched attempt to escort a payload of chemical waste. According to the official release, one of the trial members lost control of their explosives, leading to a thirty-six hour closure of the busy intersection known as ‘The Stack.’
> 
> Song then explained that McCree would be able to go free more quickly if he was able to produce evidence to the arresting officers that he owned two cows, instead of having to wait for the appeals courts to reopen on Monday morning. Song then set up a GoFundMe to raise money to purchase a pair of cows for a bovine sanctuary in McCree’s name. The Internet responded, sharing the petition with the tag #FreeMooCree until it was the top trending tag on Twitter and Facebook. Song quickly reached her fundraising goals, and stated that additional money would be allocated to Overwatch’s disaster relief fund. 

Gabe allowed himself a small smile before he called Ana back. 

“So, McCree should be able to leave soon?”

“Yes, but since the case is not yet formerly taken care of, he needs to be released into your custody,” Ana said. Gabe could hear Fareeha saying something and suddenly Ana muffled the phone and shouted “Fareeha Amari, I raised you better than to make such crude comments!” 

“Thank you, Ana,” Gabe said, after the volley of insults between mother, daughter, and Tracer had slowed. “And tell all the others thank you, even Hana.”

* * *

“So Hana really crowdfunded my cows?” McCree asked, nuzzled up against Gabe’s firm shoulder, his legs slung across his husband’s lap. They were tucked up in the window-seat of the Overwatch safe-house’s bay window, sipping at hot chocolate laced with whiskey and watching the sun go down. 

McCree felt Gabe’s low chuckle bloom against his body and felt a wash of affection for his husband and their team—no, their family. 

“She did. I have to say, those two cows are the strangest wedding present we got.” 

Gabe felt McCree readjust his face and looked down to meet the cowboy’s chuckling eyes. 

“Speaking of wedding presents,” McCree crooned, trailing off. 

Gabe smiled. Between the tedium of McCree’s release paperwork and the swarms of paparazzi and fans – since when did the Overwatch fans look and act like they were at the Teen Choice Awards red carpet?—he had forgotten about his latest project.

Sighing, he shifted McCree off of him, ignoring the cowboy’s soft noises of protest when he pried his callused hands from around his neck. He made sure to readjust the blankets around his husband’s shoulders before heading into the next room. 

“Close your eyes,” he called out, keeping the covering on; McCree would peek anyway. 

He pushed the gift out into the living area, and, sure enough, McCree had his eyes wide open. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you bought me another futon,” McCree said with a laugh upon seeing the shape. 

“You would be half right,” Gabe said, removing the upholstery cover. 

It took McCree a second to figure it out, but once he did, he jumped to his feet, “Is that…Woody?” 

“You named the damn thing?” Gabe said in spite of himself. 

“’Course I did. All that time I spent with the old team playing games on it. All the time you and I spent on it,” McCree gave an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. “Torbjörn gave me this the first day I joined Overwatch, and low and behold, it was still at the Watchpoint after the recall. Me and Woody have been through a lot together.”

“You fixed her up really nice,” McCree said, stroking his fingers across the black fabric. “The cushions are finally even and It almost feels like that fuzzy stuff from that Blackwatch plane, do you remember?” 

“There’s a reason for that,” Gabe said, a note of pride slipping into his voice. “No matter how hard the job was, you could always fall asleep on that fabric. It’s not being made anymore, but I ordered it especially for you.” 

“That’s awful nice, huckleberry, but I have to say, a part of me still misses the stripes,” McCree said. 

Gabe reached down to get the bag he had carefully hidden behind the couch. “Catch” he said, tossing the soft parcel inside to his husband. 

McCree eagerly unwrapped the package, laughing when he saw two throw pillows made of a familiar print.

“That’s not all,” Gabe said, reaching inside his jacket to pull out on last surprise. 

“You turned Woody into a serape?” McCree exclaimed. 

“Do you like it,” Gabe asked, anxiously watching his husband run his fingers along the stripes of his new garment. 

McCree looked up with tears in his eyes. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been more touched,” he said, pulling his husband down onto the futon for a deep kiss. 

They were almost asleep, nestled together on the futon, McCree’s new serape pulled over them as a blanket when McCree sits bolt upright, Gabe making a sleepy dissent when he felt his hands slip away from the cowboy’s warmth. 

“You had the funds to ship my futon across continents but you didn’t have the funds to bail me out with cows?!”


End file.
